Goodbye, Mr Grissom
by janedoe144
Summary: Grissom is shot at a crime scene and the CSI’s must deal with it. Implied character death. Slightly GCR. Finished!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter One

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no affiliation with CSI but I really like to borrow the characters occasionally. Stabbing Westward recorded Slipping Away in 1996.

Author's Note: This chapter is written from Greg's point of view.

Summary: Grissom is shot at a crime scene and the CSI's must deal with it.

Spoiler(s): None, so far.

You remember how loud it was, like a clap of thunder. Grissom told you, minutes before, to get the video surveillance tapes. The manager of the convenience store, startled and frightened, gazed into your eyes from behind his desk. You turned and advanced to the open doorway, to be roughly shoved back inside by Brass, as he and two uniforms raced down the dimly lit narrow hall.

"On three." One officer uttered. The others must have nodded in consent, since the next thing you heard was "One, Two, Three!" The door banged open. A rush of footsteps, then the door slammed shut, followed by eerie silence. Heart jack hammering in your chest, you crept back into the hall and listened at the door.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Search the area!" Brass frantically commanded. Hesitantly pushing the door open and slipping outside, you saw Brass kneeling beside a body and heard him call for additional backup on his cell phone. You watched the three of them fan out to search for the perpetrator of this dastardly deed. Staring at the prone form - brown hair sprinkled with gray, clad in a black leather jacket, your mind screamed. "No! Not, Grissom." Jerking into motion, you thought you should be doing CPR or something. Flashlight out to assess the damage, CPR won't help - nothing can be done for someone whose face is gone. Crumpling in a heap beside the body, you stared at the spreading pool of blood, with bits of flesh, bone, hair and clumps of gray matter interspersed. Swirling winds sprinkled dust and sand into the mix. All the important organic material, which comprised this cerebral man, was exploded on the dirty concrete of the alley.

"You shouldn't be out here." Brass savagely gripped you by the arm, yanked you to your feet then propelled you toward the door. You almost made it, before spewing vomit, all over that door, the one you've now begun to hate.

_No more pain, no more fear  
I feel it slipping away  
I just can't learn to forget  
Now I'm choking on the memories_

"Greg?" Some indeterminable time later, your shoulder is being shaken, waking you from catatonia. Your vacant stare meets the concerned blue eyes of Sheriff Atwater.

"Yes, sir?" Ever polite, just like Grissom, you manage some awareness and feebly respond.

"Perhaps, you should go home. Is there someone who can take you?"

"I need to get the surveillance tapes."

"Greg, we'll handle this, from here on out. I've called in some folks from Dayshift to take over the investigation. I'll find someone to drive you."

You resume the hollow regard of nothing, as he walks away. Thinking, "Grissom wouldn't like this. He wouldn't want Ecklie and the Dayshift investigating his……demise? No, call it what it is - his murder. There you've said it, at least, in your head. Does naming it, make it any better?" You ask, then answer. "No, nothing will make it better."

_I will not suffer this loss  
Of you again and again and again  
I refuse to continue to live  
In this perpetual nightmare_

Eventually, a pair of shiny black shoes interrupts your contemplation of the pavement directly in front of your feet. "Poromeric uppers." You think, categorizing the glossy mirror finish. Eyes wandering up his body, you note the simulated pressed pleats of his polyester uniform. It evokes memories from childhood, your Grandmother soaking your Grandfather's Bus Driver uniform in pale blue liquid starch then carefully pressing similar pleats into the cotton fabric after it dried. She had a Coca-Cola bottle with an ancient sprinkler corked in the neck with which to wet the more persistent wrinkles. "Do they even make glass Coke bottles anymore?" You wonder. You recall your Grandfather, pipe clenched between his teeth, buffing his worn leather work shoes to a high shine. He liked to recount how Grandma had starched his cotton boxers a couple of times when they were first married and how he had to 'put a stop to that!' You suppress the maniacal giggle threatening at the back your throat; you're pretty sure Grissom never bothered to shine his shoes. In his value system, people weren't totally judged by their appearance.

"The Sheriff told me to take you home." The officer tersely declares. He's not happy with this assignment. Ferrying a member of the Nerd Squad around town will only garner him unmerciful teasing from his more coarse brethren of the LVPD. However, you lack the will to protest so you follow him to the cruiser. Once you're away from the scene that has brutally wrenched your life apart, you ask to be taken to the lab. Someone from the Graveyard shift should know.

You shakily enter the building, through those familiar doors and smell the scent unique to this place: disinfectant, chemicals, burned coffee and just a hint of decay. Funny, how you never noticed that lingering smell of death, before now. Perhaps, it's because you'd never seen it, up close and personal. You feel ripped off; somebody just stole something very precious to you, your Mentor. You head for the break room. Warrick is seated at the table, eating a sandwich and peering at a report. He must be pulling a double. Sara is at the coffeepot.

"Guys…"

"Greg, you don't look so good." Warrick stands and guides you to a chair. "What's up?"

"Grissom's dead." You watch the coffee mug slide from Sara's hand, bang on the edge of the table then shatter on the floor. The handle ricochets off the leg of a chair and skids to rest near the refrigerator. You should've waited, let her sit down first.

"What happened?" You begin to cry - tearing, wracking sobs; you can't tell them because you don't really know. You know only, he's gone.

_I feel it slipping away  
I gave it all and no one cared  
I feel it slipping away  
I feel it slipping away_

"Greg, calm down and tell me what happened." Warrick places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes, offering strength and assurance. He's the real deal, an honest-to-God CSI. He's watching you with those calm, hooded green eyes - ever-assessing, ever-weighing. You wonder why you ever thought you could be one of them.

"Greg?" You snuffle, swallow a giant glob of snot and swipe at your eyes and nose with the back of your hand like the little boy you feel you are.

_I tried but I can't find a way  
To untangle all the pieces  
After they've been thrown away_

_I feel it slipping away_

"I, I,….I'm not sure."

"Start from the beginning." He gently instructs. That's when you notice, you have blood on your hands. It's dried into the lines that cross your palms, and the dry cracked surface of the back, with dark half circles caked in the cuticles of your nails. At some point, you pulled your gloves off and touched him, but you have no idea when.

"Fucking desert air." You mutter, scrubbing your hands on your pant leg. You wash your hands too much, causing them to dry out and crack. It's the odor of the cornstarch used in Latex gloves that bothers you. Two or three change outs and your hands are covered with white residue and then that slightly sweet rubberized scent is stuck in your nose. It doesn't seem to bother any one else so you suck it up, not wanting to appear weak, by asking to wear the more expensive pale blue Nitrile gloves you wore as a lab rat.

"Greg? You with me?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me what happened."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 2

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. Van Morrison owns the lyrics to Irish Heartbeat.

Catherine's POV

"What a night!" You exclaim, entering the CSI building. Nick Stokes, ever the Gentleman, holds the door for you, with an elbow, as the two of you enter the crime lab with the first load of evidence. Warrick returned earlier, with the most pertinent items, to begin analyses.

"Yeah. Sorry we had to call you in on your night off. Were you doing anything fun?"

"Not really, just dinner."

"Did you smoke that tenderloin?"

"Yes."

"How'd it turn out?"

"It was great. Thanks for the recipe and the smoker. I'll try to get it cleaned up and bring it back to you tomorrow."

"Hey, no hurry."

"If I don't get it back to you pronto, I'll forget about it."

"It sure is quiet in here, tonight." Nick spookily observes, seconds later, as you make your way down the hall. You pause at the break room door, taking in the surreal scene before you. Warrick and Sara stare at unfocused spots on the wall, in opposite directions. Archie fiddles with a water bottle, Bobby sporadically rubs at a spot on his forehead and Jacqui periodically blots an eye with a tissue. Greg is staring at his hands, rubbing the trembling fingers of one across the back of the other, over and over.

"Hey, what's with the long faces?" You ask, attempting to shake off the sense of foreboding that has settled heavily between your shoulder blades.

"Grissom's gone."

"Gone? Where?"

"The morgue."

You're stunned and can only think. "This can't be!" You were with him, mere hours ago. He had dinner with you and Lindsey. Lately, you've realized; you desperately need two people – Lindsey, your daughter, and Gil Grissom, your best friend. The rest of the world can go screw itself, for all you care.

Dinner was smoked pork tenderloin, prepared with Nick's special recipe and smoker. He stopped by on his day off to set the smoker up on your patio. All you had to do was add water to the pan in the bottom, light the charcoal and wait. Baked potatoes and a spring greens salad, sprinkled with raspberry walnut vinaigrette dressing, rounded out the meal. Dessert was rich New York style cheesecake topped with fresh blackberries accompanied by strong black coffee. It was all so nice, exactly how you wanted, just the three of you.

Then, cell phones rang, almost in unison. Nick and Warrick called you with a drive-by, multiple victims, very messy. They desperately needed another set of hands to help process the scene. Greg called Gil; Sophia and Sara were already out on a case and he was not allowed work alone. Most of all, you remember Lindsey's downcast eyes and slumped posture. This enjoyable evening - which she had looked forward to all week, almost as much as you - just ended. Once again, she would be dumped with Aunt Nancy while you worked all night.

Sending Lindsey to pack her schoolbooks and an overnight bag, you walked Gil to the door, grasped the lapels of his black leather jacket and admonished him to be careful. "Umm, you are the one who needs to be careful. This is just a convenience store robbery, but Greg's not fully qualified, yet." He replied with just a hint of consternation. You shared a long searching look; he wanted to kiss you, but didn't. You should have kissed him.

You feel the box sliding from your grasp but you're powerless to stop it. Greg has bloodstains on his clothes – Gil's blood. Now, you notice, his hands are red and chapped, which you suspect is from the scrubbing he must have given them. You're not sure if it's a nervous habit or some sort phobia, but he washes them frequently. The box hits the floor with a thump. Something tinkles inside, as broken as you now feel. You're mind just can't seem to get a handle on this. Seeing is believing, so you turn, push Nick out of the way and stumble blindly down the hall.

In the morgue….

Al Robbins stands just outside his office leaning heavily against a counter. David waits nearby, worry and sadness morphing across his bespectacled features. What remains of Dr. Gilbert A. Grissom, PhD in Entomology; lies, hidden from view, beneath a sheet on the stainless steel autopsy table a few feet away.

"Should we……..…..perform an autopsy?" David questions.

"No. We know the cause of death." Robbins can't bear the thought of dissecting his long-time friend. "Shot gun blast to the head, I'd say both barrels of a double barrel, point blank range. At least, he didn't feel anything. Probably never saw it coming, until it was too late." He uttered these words, not only, to comfort David, but also, himself. The words to of a song careen about in his head.

'_cause the world is so cold  
Dont care nothing for your soul  
_

He remembers; the mournful voice belongs to Van Morrison. Grissom presented him with the CD, Irish Heartbeat, after they'd spent a New Year's Eve at a local Irish pub. He recalls his wife whispering to him that they made a good couple, Gil and Catherine. Brass and Warrick had each brought a date; Gil and Catherine came alone, yet together. Cheap champagne, hugs, whistles and a bit of confetti blew in the New Year. They had drunk too much, that night. The bartender made wonderful Irish coffees comprised of strong black coffee, Amaretto, smooth Jamesons's Irish whiskey and Bailey's Irish Cream. His bearded chin fell to his chest as more mournful lyrics reverberated through his numb mind.

_Oh won't you stay  
Stay a while with your own ones  
Don't ever stray  
Stray so far from your own ones  
'cause the world is so cold  
Dont care nothing for your soul  
That you share with your own ones_

"Why couldn't you stay?" The thought coursed through his mind, then anger rose to displace grief. "What a complete waste!" He caught a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision as Catherine Willows burst through the doors of the morgue.

"Catherine! No! You don't want to remember him like this." Robbins hobbles toward her, David in tow. She stares at the sheet covering his body then yanks it back.

"Oh, my God!" She whispers, not prepared for the visage that greets her. "His face is gone." Actually, most of his head is missing, her analytical mind corrects…….no more, crooked little grin or inquisitive glance from bright blue eyes. No more whimsical, but seemingly appropriate quote effortlessly snatched from thin air. No more Kennedy half-dollars, palmed then produced from behind Lindsey's ear.

One hand at her mouth, in horror, the other fell to his cool forearm. Slowly she lowers her hand from her face. She gathers his cold hand in both of hers as tears dim her eyes. Suddenly, she gasps and frantically wipes at her eyes with the back of one hand.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 3

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. The J. Geils Band released 'Love Stinks' in 1992.

Spoiler(s): Inside the Box and Tomas Nunez is a re-occurring character from the CSI books.

"What is going on?" Sheriff Rory Atwater demanded from the doorway. Jim Brass stood at his shoulder, an air dejection surrounding him. Catherine Willows sat at a lab bench with three separate piles in front of her. She didn't answer.

"Catherine?" Once he had her attention, he continued. "Al Robbins just called me. He wants Grissom's medical records."

"Did he tell you why?"

"He seems to think, that's not Grissom, in the morgue. Catherine, the fingerprints matched."

"What did Al say, exactly?"

"He said 'Get me Grissom's medical records. Specifically, any chest or abdominal X-rays he may have had.'"

"Good, one on my side. I see, you still need some convincing."

"That would be nice. The Press is already all over this. I have a news conference scheduled in two hours. I'd like to know whether or not to tell them Gil Grissom has been murdered."

"Okay, Gil had two scars which aren't on that body. I KNOW, because I was there when he got both of them. As far as this stuff is concerned – that's his wallet and cell phone. These are NOT his keys and this is NOT his watch." She picked up the evidence bag with the watch in it and tossed it to Atwater. "Surely, you would recognize his watch, right?"

"Well, I don't know that he doesn't have another but this one seems a bit cheap for him."

"Let's move on to the clothes, this IS his leather jacket. I gave it to him for Christmas, four years ago and he had it on last night. Now, this shirt has a hole in the armpit. You know very well, our clothes usually get ruined before we ever wear'em out. These pants, too much polyester AND they're from Sears. Gil thinks Sears is for tools, exclusively. The underwear is definitely not his. The shoes aren't really his style and he wears Gold Toe socks."

"Underwear? Gold Toe socks?"

"Gil wears boxers, we got briefs here." She held them up by the waistband between a gloved forefinger and thumb.

"Look, I've done his laundry on occasion." She added when she noted his eyebrows approach his hairline. "Gil tends to forget things, like……...getting his washer repaired or, even worse, he tries to repair it himself."

"Really?"

"Yes, really! We can always go to his 'Townhouse' and search his underwear drawer. I'll bet you a hundred - no, make that a thousand, there won't be any briefs. Come to think of it, Gil buys clothes in multiples…." She trailed off.

"What's that mean?"

"If he finds something he likes, on the rare occasion that he goes shopping, he'll buy several of the same item in different colors, usually two in black. What I'm saying is that there won't be another shirt like this one in his closet."

"Anything else?"

"His money clip and pager are missing."

"You know a lot about him."

"Amazing, huh? I've only worked with him for nearly twenty years." Her tone was sarcastic then she directed her attention to Brass and held up a glass. "Do you recognize this?"

"Looks like Gil's Scotch tumbler, one of the pair he keeps in his desk."

"It is. The prints from this glass match several that I lifted from his office; but not, the ones in the AFIS database. I have a coffee cup in my dishwasher at home that, I guarantee, will match these. But, the ones from the body in the fucking morgue don't! What else, do I need to do to convince you that is not Gil in there and we really need to start looking for him!"

"Okay, calm down. I'm not gonna say I'm completely convinced but I think there's reasonable doubt. Jim contact the CSI's assigned to this case and inform them of this development."

"Oh, No! You are not taking this from me! I'm the one who recognized that's not Gil and I damn well intend to find him."

"Catherine, you are too personally involved."

"You can either help or hinder me. But, I will be investigating this case, even if, it's as a private citizen." Catherine threatened as she glared at him. Atwater met her angry stare with a stubborn scowl of his own. Her vision blurred with tears of frustration and with a quivering lower lip, she pleaded. "Please? He's my closest friend."

"All right, I shouldn't do this but the case is yours." He relented. "But, I want evidence that will hold up in court. I'll tell the press that release of the identity is pending notification of next of kin. That should hold them for awhile and buy us some time."

"He's my friend too." Brass interjected.

"Fine. You're in, as well." Atwater threw up his hands and with a sigh of defeat asked. "What can I do to help?"

"I want my team and any members of the Graveshift staff I think I need."

"Catherine, you have carte blanche. Just make sure everything is by the book. Jim, help her find him. Get the team together and brief them."

"There's no need for you to call them, I sent a page a few minutes ago." Catherine told Brass, stopping him from retrieving his cell phone. She had gone over the leather jacket with an ALS. There was gun shot residue and prints on it. She knew some of the prints were hers and exactly where they were located. Now, she had to figure out the best way to lift the rest of them.

"Lady, you've got some balls. You're sure about this, right?"

"Absolutely."

"I can't believe you pulled that off."

"The quivering lower lip gets them every time."

"You played him?"

"And, I'll do it again, if I have to." She replied with fierce determination.

"So, where do we start?" Brass scrubbed a hand over his face then tried to massage the tension out of his temples, thumb on one side, middle finger working at the other.

"Al wanted Gil's medical records and actually, I think, he's the best person to have open an official investigation. It would help us keep what we do know quiet."

"Why the need for secrecy?" Catherine was surprised at Brass's obtuseness. He was usually two jumps ahead as soon as a clue was doled out.

"Whoever 'masterminded' this had inside help. Specifically, we need to know who, how and when the AFIS database got tampered with and how the employee card got switched."

"How would they know to switch the card?"

"I don't think that's too hard to figure, especially if there's an insider. The Morgue doesn't have access to AFIS. One of our own, it's either a formality or we want to know right away, so……..….get the card." Sara offered, from the doorway. "I, um, overheard and I got your page. How can I help?"

"The vault, where personnel records are kept is supposed to be secure." Brass lamented.

"Sara, can you print the file cabinet, the card, his file…..…….Jim, can you get us access?"

"Yeah." Both replied.

"There has to be a signature on the card which they had to've forged." Sara added.

"Good, that's another lead to follow. I've called Tomas Nunez, because we can't trust any one internal, to investigate the AFIS database. In the meantime, I'm gonna fume this jacket for prints. I'll call you when everyone is here."

"You okay?" Brass asked Sara as they walked down the familiar corridors.

"I think so. I guess, right now, I'm just glad to have some hope that he's not dead. I'm not ready for him to be gone from my life. Uh, I gotta get my kit." Detouring into the lab where she had abandoned Sophia to log in the evidence from their case, she felt a little guilty because she had only intended to be gone for a few minutes to grab a cup of coffee. But then, Greg had entered the break room and, for her, time came to a screeching halt.

Sara's POV

It isn't every day that you find out the man you worship has been murdered. You have all these little mementos of his existence in your life: a plant, a sterile fruit fly encased in resin from the case in San Francisco when you met him, various notes concerning cases you've worked here…….an airline luggage tag. You wonder why you keep that tag, scribbled in his distinctive script. It contains instructions as to where the San Francisco Crime Lab vehicle was parked. You picked it up from the airport the day after he left, returning to Las Vegas for good. You always wondered if there was a 'her' involved in his abrupt departure. Over a year later, he called and you came running. After all, no 'her' had materialized or you would have heard about it. A lot of harmless flirtation later, you pushed the envelope, to be resolutely rejected. You went home and put on The J. Geils Band, listening to 'Love Stinks' over and over.

_You love her  
But she loves him  
And he loves somebody else  
You just can't win  
And so it goes  
Till the day you die  
This thing they call love  
It's gonna make you cry  
I've had the blues  
The reds and the pinks  
One thing for sure_

_(Love stinks)  
Love stinks yeah yeah  
(Love stinks)  
Love stinks yeah yeah  
(Love stinks)  
Love stinks yeah yeah  
(Love stinks)  
Love stinks yeah yeah_

"It's never easy, when it's someone you've worked with and care about." Brass closes his phone and remarks as you rejoin him. You briefly wonder if he contemplated saying this in order to assuage your feelings. Uncertain and uncaring, you noncommittally agree. "Yeah."

"Judy, we need to examine the vault." Brass informs the receptionist and presents his badge. "This is official, on my authority in conjunction with Sheriff Atwater in an active investigation." Judy nods and Brass reaches for the keypad beside the door.

"Wait, I need to print everything." Brass holds up his hands and steps back. You print the keypad, the doorknob and surrounding area before handing him a latex glove. "Okay, open the door." Brass watches from near the door while you work the room until you come to the file cabinet holding Grissom's records. You start to open the file cabinet drawer and he stops you.

"Sara, I can't release Grissom's file to you until I have written approval from Atwater. I called him while you were getting your kit. He said it would be here ASAP."

"Okay. Will you keep personal custody of the file until it is released?"

"Yes. I will." You hold up an evidence bag and he places the file inside. Sealing it, you write out the label and assign it a number before returning it to him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 4

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. "Boulevard Of Broken Dreams" is performed by Green Day.

Spoilers: None.

"Greg, are you okay to be here?" Catherine asked as various members of the team began filing into the break room. Thinking he was too young and already upset, she hadn't paged him. Although she was pleased that he had the guts to come anyway, she wondered how he found out.

"Yes. I want to be doing something to help. Please?"

"Alright, but you stick with me unless I assign you otherwise."

"Fine." He met her worried eyes with a steady gaze, determined to prove himself worthy.

"I'm glad." She said it softly, a moment later, but it was acknowledgement enough for him.

"Okay, here's what I know." Catherine succinctly informed the group of her findings. She summarized with "I believe this is an abduction and Gil is probably still alive. I don't have to tell you that the first twenty-four hours are crucial. We are at 9 AM, eight hours down and counting."

"If someone wanted him dead, why go to all this trouble? Why not, just kill him?" Nick asked.

"I don't know. There must be a reason. All I can think is, they're either trying to coerce him or….…" She paused because uttering her worst fears aloud might make them come true. Realizing that the group was waiting for her to finish, she lamely added. "God, only knows."

"What do you want us to do?" Warrick inquired, hoping to prod her toward assignments. He was anxious to get started.

"Sara, what did you find?"

"I lifted a number of prints from the door and file cabinet. Most of them should belong to city employees who had a valid reason for being in there. We're at a standstill for any unknowns until we find out the status of AFIS. Also, Jim has custody of Grissom's file until we get a release from Atwater to work on it."

"Okay, in the meantime, I'd like for you and Warrick, to go over the evidence the Dayshift team collected. Atwater told them it's our case now and Ecklie is out of town for the weekend. Monday is a holiday so, I expect, there won't be any argument until Tuesday. If this lasts until then, it probably won't matter anyway." She took a deep breath, hating how callous she sounded. "Then, I want you two to go back over the scene and make sure they didn't miss anything."

"What if the Dayshift guys want to help?"

"No, I only want people I know I can trust on this." For the first time, Brass noted who was missing from the Graveyard shift – Hodges, Mia and Sophia.

"Jim, how long will it be before we get that release?" Catherine changed gears.

"Should be any time. After I can legally turn this over to you, I plan to find out who has access to the vault and who's been in there recently. I think one of the surveillance cameras of the front lobby has a view of the vault door. Maybe we can match the footage up to the entrance log and find someone who doesn't belong there or didn't log in."

"Great! Archie the video is all yours. Bobby, Doc Robbins should have recovered shot from the autopsy. See what you can do with it."

"I'll get it and any recovered from the scene."

"Good. As for everyone else, we do have avenues to explore: current cases, old cases; and yes, I realize how many there are, the fingerprints I lifted from his jacket, the ones Sara lifted and the ones from our 'John Doe' in the morgue. Hopefully, we'll have more from his file once it has been released. Right now, all we can do is try to manually match the prints until Tomas figures out how and the extent to which AFIS was corrupted. Nick, I want you to work his current case files and the rest of us are gonna pour over the old ones. We'll start with anyone convicted of a violent crime who was released within the past year then move backward."

---------------------------------------

Nick Stokes stood in the threshold of Grissom's office. It was difficult to enter, there were so many memories floating around in it. Like the others, he clung to the hope that there would be more to come. Squaring his shoulders, he took the most difficult step of all, the first one.

Entering Grissom's sanctuary, Nick couldn't help remember Catherine shoving him out of the way and storming down the hall. All he could manage at the time was to ask "How?"

"Preps came back. Grissom was in the alley and they shot him." Warrick replied. It hadn't occurred to him that Warrick had spared him the grisly details. Later, when he found out they had blown Grissom's head off with a shotgun, he had to sit down for a few minutes.

"Gotta do something." He had muttered after spending an indeterminate amount of time leaning against the doorframe. Looking down, he realized he was still clutching the box of evidence he had carried into the building. Eyes dropping to the box on the floor, he started to sit his box down, intending to stack them when Warrick stood and picked up Catherine's box.

"Gris would be pissed at us for not taking care of the evidence. I'll help you log it in." Warrick grimaced in something resembling a smile.

"Yeah, he would."

The minutes ticked off as he went through the files, notes and general detritus of Gil Grissom's messy desk. He went through everything, pausing at the Christmas card from Catherine with a five by seven Glamour shot of her and Lindsey enclosed. It was a good picture, taken during a time when she'd had plenty of rest, or maybe, it was merely carefully applied make up and a bit of airbrushing. Regardless, the picture presented a happy mother and daughter on a carefree day, something he knew wasn't quite the truth. The worn edges of the envelope informed him Grissom had removed and reinserted the contents many times since receiving it. When he left Grissom's office to report to Catherine, he took it with him.

------------------------------------------

Warrick Brown had always meant to ask Grissom a question, one that had been burning in his mind for quite some time. "When did you know? When were you certain, you were no longer a part of the day light?" He no longer felt he was part of that world. Even when he was out in the daylight, he felt separated from all those people, scurrying about their daily lives.

Early this morning, just as the dawn was breaking, he had pulled up, a half a block away from the convenience store, intent on paying homage to his fallen former boss. It had seemed so easy at the time, just slip up the alley, contemplate the bloody spot and allow his emotions to run rampant. He would allow himself to cry and feel his soul cleansed in the way that only the shedding of tears could do. But, the Dayshift guys were still present and they wouldn't welcome the intrusion, regardless of his motivation. He had turned the radio on and sat back, hoping they would soon depart. A slightly desperate, lonely song filled his Tahoe.

_I walk a lonely road  
The only one that I have ever known  
Don't know where it goes  
But it's home to me and I walk alone  
_

Returning to his empty apartment near the Strip, claustrophobia set in and he went for a walk. Wandering the deserted early morning streets, he thought about Grissom and all the times he had watched him walk alone. He paused in his aimless journey, remembering working the case of a homeless man, senselessly beaten to death in this very alley. He had watched Grissom walk down this alley, right hand stretched out to the side, his thumb tapping, to some internal muse, against his middle finger. It was early morning then, as now, and Warrick followed him down the alley. Grissom looked so out of place in the Neon glow of the Strip as the dawn streaked the eastern sky.

_I walk this empty street  
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
and I'm the only one and I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk a..._

His pager vibrated, startling him from his pensive reflection. The message read. "Come to the lab ASAP. It's NOT Grissom. Catherine." He stared at it dumbly, trying to comprehend. If it wasn't Grissom then who was it? He felt a shadow fall over him - one he had walked in for so many years - Grissom's shadow.

_  
_  
_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
'Til then I walk alone _

Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ah,  
Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah

"You coming?" Sara asks, reminding him they have work to do.

"Yeah. I'll be along in a minute. Just trying to get my head on straight."

"Okay. I understand. If you want to talk…….." Their eyes meet and he nods. He wasn't really alone; none of them were as long as they worked together.

_I'm walking down the line  
That divides me somewhere in my mind  
On the border line  
Of the edge and where I walk alone _

Read between the lines  
What's fucked up and everything's alright  
Check my vital signs  
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

"Get your shit together, Warrick." He mutters to himself then closes his eyes for a moment searching for strength. "All right, Man! Let's go find it!" He bolts from the seat in a fluid surge of energy, grabs his kit and follows Sara in lanky ground eating strides.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 5

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. "Be Yourself" is performed by Audioslave.

Spoilers: Conversation between Nick and Grissom from Eleven Angry Jurors, the letter from No More Bets, Sara's line to Nick from Crate 'n Burial.

Nick Stokes paused in his journey through the lab corridors. Peering in the lab where Greg was helping Jacqui, he noted the slumped shoulders and knew guilt lay heavily there. None of this was Greg's fault; but, how to get him to understand that?

Was it only this morning………

"Hey, Guys." You greeted as you returned to the break room a couple of hours after you and Warrick left to log in the evidence. Sara and Jacqui had gone. Archie sat huddled with Greg. Warrick had also left but you weren't all that sleepy and the idea of going home to sit around and remember didn't appeal. So, you decided to get a cup of coffee and get to work on the case, something Grissom would approve of. "Ironic." you thought. "Here I am, still seeking his approval."

You know you no longer require his approval but you've learned some of the most valuable lessons in your life from him. The biggest and hardest was to just stand on your own and be yourself. Drifting back through the memories, you remember the case. The one you investigated with Grissom, initially. He closed it because the physical evidence indicated the woman had just left town.

_Someone falls to pieces  
Sleepin' all alone  
Someone kills the pain  
Spinning in the silence  
To finally drift away  
_

Her sister came forward two years later demanding the case be reopened. Eventually, you followed the evidence back to her. She killed her own sister then tried to frame her former lover for her murder. It seems he preferred the youngest sister and was planning to marry her.

_Someone gets excited  
In a chapel yard  
Catches a bouquet  
Another lays a dozen  
White roses on a grave _

To be yourself is all that you can do  
To be yourself is all that you can do

When you went to update Grissom, you were angry and defensive because it was your empathy that led you to the correct killer. Grissom and all his preaching about objectivity had allowed the killer to go free until her jealousy caused her to force her own hand. Was he wrong? No, he had followed protocol. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right, or should the word be righteous? Yeah, righteous was the word to use. You can still hear the words you spoke ringing in your head.

"So what? You know, I'm always getting criticized for empathizing with the victims and their families, but that's who I am. That's how I do my job. And as far as the promotion goes, it's all good, Man. I can live without it. I'm not you."

"Good. We certainly don't need another me around here." He'd said it stone-faced, barely glancing up at you, in reply to your indignant outburst. You walked out, certain you'd just blown any chance of getting the key position you and Sara were competing for. You wanted him to say, "It's okay. I used to be just like you." But, he didn't.

_Someone finds salvation in everyone  
And another only fame  
Someone tries to hide himself  
Down inside their selfish brain_

It wasn't until months later, when you sat reading the letter that you realized the only way to really obtain his approval was to not strive for it. He had recommended you, not Sara. The whole time, you told yourself there was no way you would win against his protégé. But, you weren't going to just give it to her and not even apply. Apparently, Grissom wasn't as blind to her faults as you thought. Or, was it from listening to all Sara's talk? She certainly thought she was more special to him than anyone else. From the very beginning, she took every opportunity to remind you. "Who did Grissom hand pick to work here?"

_Someone swears his true love  
Until the end of time  
Another runs away  
Separate or united?  
Healthy or insane?  
_

Thinking about it now, you realized you were all hand picked by Grissom, probably with a little nudging from Catherine. They picked you, then Warrick, and now Greg from the lab to train as CSIs.

_To be yourself is all that you can do  
To be yourself is all that you can do  
To be yourself is all that you can do  
To be yourself is all that you can do  
_

It seemed like it was just a few days ago when Grissom offered you the opportunity to become a CSI. You came into work and Catherine told you Grissom wanted to see you. She bestowed a dazzling smile on you as she pushed you toward his office.

"Gris? You wanted to see me?" You hesitantly asked, still a little afraid of entering his office.

"Nicky, my boy! How are you?" He greeted but kept his eyes trained at the microscope in front of him. He looked so young, back then - too young for the reputation that preceded him. You wonder where his youth and that infectious enthusiasm went.

"Fine."

"Catherine tells me you were a big help on the Spurlock case and you really seemed to enjoy getting out in the field."

"Yeah, it was great." You shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for him to get to the point.

"I'll be with you in just a second, just gotta make a couple of quick notes here." While he scrawled his observations in a notebook, you surveyed the room.

"New experiment?" You questioned, after a moment, gesturing to the one-liter beaker sitting atop a tripod with a Fisher burner hissing beneath it. Off-white masses were roiling in clear liquid.

"Ah, no. Dinner." He replied, glancing up. "Macaroni and cheese."

"It's a brand new beaker and I washed it." He justified, fully catching your skeptical look.

"Oh, okay."

"I think it's about done." He shut the gas off to the burner. "So, would you be interested in more field work?"

"Definitely!"

"Enough to want to be a CSI?"

"Yes."

"It means a pay cut."

"Doesn't matter to me."

"Congratulations! You start on Monday." He grinned and Nick could still see his blue eyes, dancing merrily behind the lens of his glasses.

_And even when you've paid enough, been pulled apart or been held up  
With every single memory of the good or bad faces of luck  
don't lose any sleep tonight  
I'm sure everything will end up alright  
You may win or lose _

But to be yourself is all that you can do  
To be yourself is all that you can do

"Nick?" Returning from reverie, you realized Archie was trying to get your attention.

"Yes."

"Help me? He doesn't need to just sit here. I can't get him to go home."

"Come on, Greg. We're going to breakfast." You spoke with an authority you didn't know you possessed. To your surprise, he stood and shuffled out the door. Although food at a noisy diner was the last thing you were interested in, you shrugged and told Archie. "Let's go."

Two hours later, your pager went off. Archie's joined less than a minute later. The two of you stared at each other in astonishment at the message from Catherine. Greg's pager remained stubbornly silent and you remember the hurt look haunting his eyes.

"Greg, the boss needs us. You've chased those eggs around your plate long enough."

"She didn't page me." Huge puddles of tears had formed, threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"I'm sure it's just a glitch. Cath thinks the world of you. I'm sure she wants you there." You weren't sure of your words; Catherine had changed since being promoted.

But fortune smiled on you all, the Catherine of old - tough, determined and collected, greeted your return to the lab. She immediately took custody of Greg, keeping him close by, lest he should falter. You knew she must have backed the Sheriff into a corner and refused to take no for an answer. Had the circumstances been different, you would have rejoiced out loud. 'The Team' was back together but the joy of being reunited was short-lived because the missing patriarch was the sole reason you were all back together.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 6

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.

"Hey." Nick gently greeted Catherine.

"Hey. Find anything?"

"Three murder cases, all basically solved. The prime suspects are in the County lockup."

"Thanks. I didn't really think it would be something current."

"Me either, but 'leave no stone unturned'. Anyway, I found this. I thought you might like to have it." He handed her the card.

"We had such a good day, that day." She sadly mused as she opened the card and looked at the picture. "He went with us."

"We'll find him and he'll go again."

"I hope you're right, kiddo."

"I am, just wait and see. What else you got, Boss Lady?" He teased to lighten the moment.

"Jacqui identified the body in the Morgue as Timothy Afton. I got in touch with Jim and he's headed to the motel where Afton lived with a search warrant. You want to take it?"

"You bet."

"Take Greg. And, thanks for bringing him along, I didn't realize it would hurt him more to be left out………I just thought, he's so young and this is so tough."

"It's okay. You had a lot going on………" He paused for a second, unsure of how she would respond. "and, I know you're a little in love with Grissom."

"Everybody who works with him is in some sort of 'love' with him. I realize how nice it is to be the sole focus of his attention. I just never took it personally. I've been around him long enough to know where that road ends."

"Broken heart?"

"Right."

"I'm not so sure you're right. He cares about you a lot more than he lets on."

"He cares about everyone more than he lets on, even you. Although, I'm not sure why." She rolled her eyes in exaggeration while a slight smirk played on her lips, enjoying the brief respite a bit of teasing allowed.

"Yeah, but you're the only one who gets away with planting a foot in his ass!"

"That's because he knows he needs a good swift kick, now and then. I have seniority so I'm allowed. If you don't get going, I'm gonna plant a foot in your ass!" She punched him lightly on the arm. He relished the contact, more proof that the Catherine he knew and loved was in charge.

"Whatever."

"Get going! The sooner we find him, the sooner I can kick his ass for worrying me to death!"

"Okay! Okay! I'm gone already."

----------------------------------

Day One…….Out in the desert……..

Gil Grissom awoke, disoriented and in pain. A moment of sheer panic ensued because he couldn't see. Trying desperately to calm himself, he concentrated on his other senses, afraid to move. He felt the familiar heat of sunburn on his left ear and the left side of his neck. He could smell the arid desert air, thick with the odor of sagebrush and a hint of juniper. Licking his lips, he drew grains of sand into his mouth. He heard nothing, but eerie silence. He moaned softly to reassure himself he could still hear.

Wincing in agony, he rolled over onto his back. Intense pain radiated from his right shoulder, the one he had been lying on, and his right leg was a throbbing mass. Desperate to see, he endured the torment of lifting his bound hands to his face. He scrubbed the dirt and sand away from his right eye to find it in proper working order. Gingerly prodding his left eye, he realized it was swollen shut and the lashes were caked with dried blood from a cut at the edge of his left eyebrow. Letting his fingertips explore, he found he had two areas of swelling on his head: one on the left side, his temple, and the other on the right side, his cheekbone.

"Okay, so where are you and how did you get in this mess?" He hauled himself onto his left elbow and levered into a sitting position. Dizziness and nausea washed over him but he stubbornly refused to lie back down. Stoically waiting out the waves of sickness, he desperately tried to recall what happened.

The last clear memory he had was in the alley behind the convenience store. Noting a piece of fabric beside the Dumpster, he slipped a Latex glove on his left hand from his pocket then crouched to retrieve it. It was a black ski mask, probably dropped by one of the robbers. A noise emanated from his left, pain burst through his left temple, then blackness.

Sometime later, he awoke in darkness; hard metal slats dug into his back. He caught a dusky glimpse of the moon to his right through a window. Peering around, he deduced he was in the back of a pickup truck with a camper shell. The hard, jouncing jolts of the vehicle told him he was out of the city. He began to raise a hand to his throbbing temple and found they were bound together. Exploring with his fingers, he felt the smooth yet dimpled surface of duct tape, binding his hands together. "How original." He perversely thought as the truck came to a shuddering halt, doors slammed on either side then he heard voices arguing. Thinking quickly, he splayed his bare right hand against a window, leaving his handprint on the Plexiglas.

"Why don't you just kill him?" One man continued the argument.

"I want him to suffer, like I did."

"Shit, you think that's gonna hold him. He can climb right out of there."

"It will, once I'm finished." The tailgate creaked open and Grissom lashed out with both feet catching one man square in the chest. He wasn't quick enough to dodge the blow coming from the side. It collided with his cheekbone in a sickening crunch. Trying to shake it off and resume the fight, he felt hands grasp his ankles pulling him from the truck. Excruciating pain just above his right knee caused him to black out again.

Probing his right thigh, he located a huge knot just above the knee, indicating that his femur was, at the very least, fractured. Further investigation revealed his kneecap wasn't where it was supposed to be. It was to the left and slightly below it's proper position. Touching it sent spasms of pain through his lower body, up his spine to blast the top of his head. His vision dimmed to near blackness laced with bright spots. He waited out another wave of dizziness, taking shallow panting breaths.

Studying his surroundings, it appeared he was in a natural pit or crevasse. He listened intently again and upon hearing no sign of civilization, he thought. "And, if that isn't enough, you're obviously out in the middle of nowhere in the blazing sun with no water."

He glanced at his watch, two PM. They had to be searching for him so the first order of business was to get out of the sun and get his CSI windbreaker off. Glancing around, he noted a bit of shade afforded by a rocky outcropping. Using his left elbow for leverage and being careful of his injuries, he inched most of his body into the shade then rested.

After a time, he began worrying the tape loose from his wrists. It was evidence so he carefully maintained the integrity of the piece, especially the ends. They should be able to match the tear pattern to the roll from whence it came. Once his hands were free, he struggled out of his jacket and pulled the Latex glove off his left hand. Deciding he now knew what it was like to wrapped in Cellophane, he wiped his sweaty hand on his pant leg and watched the sand soak up the liquid that had pooled in the glove. "Dish pan hand." He thought, studying the soft, too white wrinkled flesh. He waved it through the air to dry it more and get rid of the annoying tenderness.

Once his hand was somewhat back to normal, it occurred to him that he needed to preserve the tape. He had the glove from his left hand but couldn't devise anything satisfactory utilizing it. He searched his pockets, to find some change, keys and his pager. Deciding he wouldn't need his pager for awhile, he carefully wrapped the tape around it, stuffed it in the inside-out glove and stowed the wad in his jacket pocket to protect it from the elements. Using his jacket for a pillow and getting as comfortable as possible, he settled in to wait. He drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 7

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.

Spoiler(s): Reference to the end of Nesting Dolls.

Late afternoon in the Crime Lab…….

Catherine let her eyes slip shut. She'd been up over twenty-four hours and was starting to feel it. In the good old day, when it was just she and Gil, they had each been good for at least thirty-six before fatigue became a serious problem. Age was catching up to them, and now, twenty-four was tough. They could hide it from the younger CSI's, in the guise of instruction, but not from each other. Still, she was in no mood to relinquish control even though it occurred to her that she probably should.

She found herself reliving the conversation with Al Robbins. She recalled how the pad of her thumb had searched for the little scar just below the knuckle of Gil's left forefinger. It wasn't there. It should have been, but wasn't. She searched the other hand just to be absolutely certain. She ripped the sheet off the body searching for the scar on his right knee.

"This isn't Gil."

"Catherine, his fingerprints matched the employee card."

"I don't care! Al, do an autopsy, find your own reason this isn't Gil. I know it isn't him. He had two scars, which aren't on this body. One, on his left forefinger – I dropped a bombshell, while he was preparing breakfast for us, he dropped the knife he was using and cut his finger, badly. The other one was on his right knee where he ran into a jagged edge of a car bumper. We were at the park when Lindsey was a toddler and she was chasing a ball. She would have run out into the street, right into the path of an oncoming car. I know those scars almost as well as I do my own." She gave Robbins a pleading look. "Please? Do it for me?"

"All right, Catherine. I'll perform an autopsy." He replied with a resigned sigh.

"Thank you." She gave Robbins a brief hug before requesting. "One other thing, I need the clothes and personal effects that were with this body."

"In for a penny, in for a pound." Robbins responded before calling. "David?"

David brought Catherine a box containing the clothing from the body and a sealed envelope from the safe in which valuables were stored. Catherine took both back to the lab. Trying to get a handle on her chaotic emotions, she chose to treat it like a case. Taking solace in comfortable routine, she methodically labeled and bagged each item before examining any of it.

--------------------------------------

"Catherine?" Bobby interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes." Her eyes snapped open.

"I've analyzed the shot."

"And?"

"I'd say, a sawed-off double barrel. It's double ought buckshot, most likely from a 12 gauge. I experimented a little with some of our own arsenal. From the size and shape of the wound, I think it is probably a Remington 332, over and under."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"The gun was designed for maximum destructive power, at close range."

"So………….what?"

"The shooter was probably within a couple of feet of the victim. If we find the weapon, I believe the choke on both barrels will be tight to maximize the density of the shot. From the number of shot, I'm pretty sure the shells were three and a half-inch."

"The biggest you can get. In other words, the most bang for the buck."

"Well, at least, the most destruction. I think, the guy in the morgue, didn't look like Grissom, right in the face, but the body build was similar."

"Switch the prints and who would know or notice." Catherine surmised.

"Except you." Bobby pointed out.

"This is, just…….blowing my mind. I mean, there was gun shot residue on the jacket and shirt so the guy had it on when he was shot. They take Gil's jacket, put his cell phone and wallet in the pockets but don't bother to exchange anything else. Then, one guy puts it on so the other one can kill him? I can't imagine anybody willingly doing that."

"People do strange things. Maybe the guy was already dying."

"No, Al didn't find anything to support that. The man had emphysema and the beginnings of cirrhosis but both could have been successfully treated with the cessation of tobacco use and alcohol consumption. Personally, I'd have to suck on an oxygen bottle a long time or have a liver the size of a watermelon before I willingly let someone blow my head off."

"I've gotta go." She muttered when she noticed Tomas gesturing to her from the hall.

"What did you find?"

"You won't like it." He warned but after receiving her blazing glare, suggested. "Let's go to your office."

"Okay, what?" Catherine demanded when they were safely in her office.

"The good news is AFIS is restored. The bad news is the alterations to the database occurred from Conrad Ecklie's laptop, around five o'clock yesterday afternoon."

'WHAT?"

"I told you, you wouldn't like it."

"Great! This is just great! How much can you find out without access to the laptop?"

"Almost as much as with it."

"I can authorize any work you need to do on the lab network, but Conrad's laptop……….I don't even know where it is. Find out what you can and if you really think we need to search it, then we'll do it. After all, it's lab property just like any other computer here." She leaned forward on her elbows and started rubbing her forehead.

"You seem a little hesitant to pursue him."

"Well, for one thing, I don't want to call him back from out of town. He'll try to take over the investigation and he's terrible in the field. But mostly, I really can't see Conrad doing something like this, especially now. He's the Assistant Director of the lab and while I think he'd hang Gil out to dry in a New York minute if he had sufficient cause, I really can't see him risking his career like this just to get at Gil."

"Ecklie is newly appointed and Grissom is his only competition."

"Not exactly, Gil didn't want that job. It was offered to him first and he turned it down, flat out. I told him I thought it was a mistake. Look, even Conrad, arrogant as he is, realizes how important Gil is to this lab. So, while he might needle him a little here and there……..he'll back down when push comes to shove."

"Ah, somehow I think you've already witnessed that scene, haven't you?" Tomas spent most of his time cloistered in his 'lab' with computers and various high tech gadgets for company. A little office gossip concerning the internal power plays of his favorite client appealed to him. If the money had been better when Grissom offered him a job a couple of years ago, he would have jumped on it. The work he did for the Vegas Crime Lab was far more interesting than most of the stuff he did, but his free lance work paid very well and he had a taste for expensive toys.

"Yeah. God, that was twenty-four hours straight from Hell. I really wondered if Gil knew what he was doing. As it turns out, Conrad blustered, made some threats but basically backed down. In retrospect, I think he just wanted to see if he could make Gil knuckle under."

"What was he trying to make Grissom do?'

"Fire Sara."

"Oh." Tomas had a look of genuine amazement of his face as he tried to picture that scene. He wanted to ask what Sara had done but Warrick Brown appeared in the doorway. "I'll try to pinpoint those alterations." He told her as he got up to leave.

"Tomas, how's it hangin', Man. You get AFIS restored?" Warrick greeted.

"Yep, things are good but they'll be better when you guys find the Man."

"You got that right!" Warrick smiled and moved to the side to let Tomas out.

"Hey." He greeted Catherine.

"Hey, yourself."

"So, What's next?"

"Jacqui is working the prints. We've already got a couple of suspects. I called Brass to get him started and Nick and Greg have gone to search Timothy Afton's residence."

"Who's he?"

"The dead guy they left in place of Gil."

"Does he look much like Grissom?"

"See for yourself." Catherine handed him the mug shots taken of Timothy Afton when he had been incarcerated for robbing a grocery store.

"Well, I can see why they shot him in the face. He looks remarkably like Grissom in the profile shot. But, that big ole reddish purple birthmark on the left side of his nose and cheek…..."

"That and his green eyes. Anyway, that profile shot is why Jacqui compared his prints to the body in the morgue. He got out of prison 13 months ago. What did you and Sara find?"

"Not much. Personally, I think it was a set up from the get go."

"Why?"

"The robbers went in the front and held the store up. They left out the back but one of'em stopped long enough to spray paint the video camera lens covering the back alley." He speared her with a meaningful look.

"So, they didn't bother with the other cameras and nobody noticed that one because they're too busy calling the cops and recovering from being robbed. But, if they were targeting Gil, how could they know he would walk out there alone?"

"Look at this map. Drive-by happened here; six blocks further, Sophia and Sara's domestic disturbance turned db. It's on a direct path to the convenience store."

"So, you're thinking someone knew our schedules and what order we would be called out?"

"Yeah. We get a messy one early so we call you. Sara and Sophia are called in early, leaving an unqualified Greg. Following protocol, he calls Grissom, who's on call. If Grissom had been off, he would've called a floater from Dayshift."

"What if, Greg or Brass had been out there with him?"

"I think they would be as dead as the stiff in the morgue."

"This is starting to scare me."

"Yep, it's starting to smell like a vendetta."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 8

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. The lyrics to Young Lust belong to Pink Floyd. The lyrics to Fingerprints belong to Leonard Cohen.

Spoilers: Reference to Jimmy Tadero from Felonius Monk.

"Willows." Catherine answered.

"Cath, it's Nick. We've got a mess to sift through here. I'm sending Timothy Afton's truck back to the lab. Can you work it?"

"Yeah, Warrick is back. He can help me. What's with the truck?"

"The owner of the motel said it was gone until sometime after two AM last night. He was keeping watch because Afton owed two weeks back rent and promised to pay up yesterday. We know Afton was dead by two so I'm thinking whoever iced him brought the truck back."

"And, they might have used it to transport Gil."

"I think it's a good possibility."

------------------------------

Catherine, dressed in CSI coveralls, gathered her hair up and secured it in a ponytail while she walked the perimeter of the truck. Warrick was a few steps in front of her, photographing the exterior. Donning a pair of Latex gloves, she printed the door handle then opened the driver's side door while he took pictures of the interior. After completing the passenger door, she went to the back of the truck, printing the handles of the hatch and the tailgate.

"How do you want to handle it?" Warrick asked, setting the camera down.

"We'll probably get the prints quickest if we fume it."

"I'll get some sheeting." Warrick said.

"Hey, Cath." Jacqui Franco greeted.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know I finished with all the prints we have so far. I made a spreadsheet to cross-reference multiple hits. The janitor, Daryl Henson, was all over the place, most significantly on Grissom's personnel file."

"Brass is already looking for him. Are you up for working a few more?" Catherine indicated the stack of prints they had already lifted from the truck.

"Why not? Fingerprints are my life! I can chase Greg out and put on Leonard Cohen."

"Send Greg this way. We can use his help." Catherine could hear Jacqui bellowing the lyrics to Fingerprints as she left the garage bay and headed back to her lab.

_I touched you once too often  
Now I don't know who I am  
My fingerprints were missing  
When I wiped away the jam  
Yes, I called my fingerprints all night  
But they don't seem to care  
The last time that I saw them  
They were leafing through your hair _

Fingerprints, fingerprints  
Where are you now my fingerprints?

"I think she's had way too much caffeine." Warrick commented.

"I think you're right."

Catherine set up the apparatus while Warrick and Greg spread the plastic sheeting over the top of the truck. Half an hour later, they tore the duct tape loose that sealed the makeshift tent to the concrete floor and went to work. Warrick and Greg were working the cab when Catherine found a hand print on the Plexiglas window in the back. It appeared someone had purposefully put it there. Holding her hand up to shadow the print she estimated the size and shape as consistent with Grissom's. Trying to contain her excitement, she quickly photographed and lifted the print then clamored out of the truck bed.

"I found a hand print." She shouted then rushed off to the fingerprint lab.

"Hey!" Catherine skidded around the back of the truck where Warrick was watching Greg lift prints. "It was Gil's handprint! He was here and aware enough to leave it!"

"I found something too. It was behind the passenger's seat." Warrick held up a sawed off double barrel shotgun. Anticipating her line of questioning, he added. "No prints and the serial number has been ground down. It's been wiped clean but it has been fired recently. I called Bobby to work on it; he might be able to recover the serial number."

"I'm finished with the undercarriage. Have you guys found anything else?" Warrick asked, rolling out from under the truck and climbing to his feet.

"Positive for blood on this spare tire. Greg, help me get it out."

"Cath, there's a roll of duct tape behind you." Warrick said and all three CSIs focused on the silver roll of tape lying to the side. "They might have used it to bind him."

"Good thinking. Knowing Gil, he'll figure some way to preserve the ends of the tape so we can compare it." Catherine said, picking up the roll of tape. "So, I'm gonna print it and work the end off the roll. When we find him, we've got one more link in the chain."

-------------------------------

Out in the desert with Grissom………..

When he awoke again, it was night andtoo dark to see his watch. With a grunt of pain, he moved to look at the night sky. The full moon hung, large and low on the horizon; therefore, it was still early. A coyote howled in the distance and an answering yip came from nearby. "They don't get too far from water." He thought.

Eyeing the walls of his desert prison, there was only one way he could hope to climb out. Crawling to the base of the rocks, he rested and gazed up at the edge. It looked far more formidable from the base. Twice, he tried. Twice, he made it halfway up before falling back. After the second tumbling slide back down, he realized he would never be able to get enough leverage with only one good arm and leg, both on the left side. He slammed his right shoulder repeatedly against a rock, trying to force it back into alignment. It didn't work. He tried climbing out again anyway, hoping he could force his injured shoulder to hold his weight long enough to gain further purchase. The third time he slid down the slope, he gave up.

He didn't feel hungry, although it had to have been more than twenty-four hours since he last ate but he was extremely thirsty. He soon realized he needed something to keep his mind off the persistent thirst and throbbing pain from his knee and shoulder. He felt around and found a smooth stone to suck on, hoping to slack the thirst. To occupy his mind, he began going over the open cases that were within his purview.

Sometime later in the night, when he began to shiver, he located his windbreaker and wrapped it around his shoulders. It stank of stale sweat but he was grateful for the warmth it provided. The night before, it had been unseasonably cold, after a brief thunderstorm passed through in the late afternoon. He had changed from his leather jacket to his CSI windbreaker, then noting that the convenience store doors stood wide open, pulled his leather jacket on over it to ward off the chill in the air.

He began thinking of Catherine. Knowing she would be leading the troops in the search for him, he worried for a moment that she would push too hard. He could still picture her as vividly as the first time he saw her. He had only been in Vegas for a month and the sight of her on the stage had taken his breath away. The lyrics to Young Lust by Pink Floyd drifted into his mind.

_I am just a new boy,  
Stranger in this town.  
Where are all the good times?  
Who's gonna show this stranger around?  
_

_Ooooo I need a dirty woman.  
Ooooo I need a dirty girl.  
_

Sweat gleamed on her lithe form, darkening her blonde hair where it came into contact with her damp skin. Rivulets of sweat trickled between her bare breasts. A completely unprofessional desire overcame him; he wanted to chase those salty remnants away with the tip of his tongue.

_Will some woman in this desert land,  
Make me feel like a real man?  
Take this rock and roll refugee.  
Ooo babe, set me free. _

Ooooo I need a dirty woman.  
Ooooo I need a dirty girl.  
Ooooo I need a dirty woman.  
Ooooo I need a dirty girl.

"Forget it, pal. She's married, to an absolute ass but that doesn't make her any less married." Jimmy Tadero informed him with a wink and a smirk. "And, close your mouth, that drool might contaminate the scene."

-----------------------------------

It was well after midnight when Warrick carried a sleeping Catherine into the break room and laid her gently on the sofa. He found a blanket in the corner closet, covered her and slipped out the door. He turned around to see Jim Brass striding down the hall.

"Hey Rick, where's Catherine?"

"Asleep, in there." Warrick gestured to the closed door. Brass noted the sign Warrick was taping to the door 'Catherine is sleeping. Enter at your own risk.'

"She finally passed out, huh?"

"Yeah. She needs to get some rest." Warrick didn't tell Brass he had been massaging the kinks out of her neck when he looked around to see she had fallen asleep. He stood with her head nestled against his chest for a long moment; wishing things were different, before picking her up.

"We've got Darryl Henson in custody. I thought I'd see if she wanted to sit in on the interrogation. You interested?"

"He's the Janitor, right?"

"Yep, left his prints all over the place. I figure he can't be too bright."

"Alright let me tell Nick where I'm going."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 9

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.

Spoiler(s): Officer David Fromansky from All for Our Country and Paper or Plastic makes an appearance just because I like him.

"You the arresting officer?" Warrick inquired of David Fromansky who was leaning against the wall across from the Interrogation room.

"Yeah."

"Off-duty?"

"Grissom could have hung me out to dry but he didn't. I can't honestly say I would have done the same thing, had the shoe been on the other foot, so I put in a little of my own time to try and help him out. You got a problem with that?"

"No, and……..Thank you from everybody at the Crime Lab." Warrick evenly replied. Brass felt an instance of chagrin, Fromansky's belligerent attitude got under his skin. He wasn't sure he could have been so nice.

"Hey, if this is about that case of soda, I'll return it or pay for it. I thought it was trash, ya know, expired or something." Darryl Henson began when Brass and Warrick entered the room. Brass ignored him until he and Warrick were seated then carefully schooled his features and began the interrogation.

"Mr. Henson, can you explain how your fingerprints were found inside the Personnel Vault?"

"Where?"

"The room across the hall from Sheriff Atwater's office. The one with the keypad? You don't have access to that room as a Janitor."

"Oh, well, I was in there a couple of weeks ago. Somebody spilt coffee on the floor. A guard called me to clean it up."

"Do you clean Assistant Director Ecklie's office?" Warrick asked, quickly changing direction.

"Yes."

"When was the last time you cleaned it?"

"I clean it on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, after business hours. I work here at the station during the day and I pick up some overtime in the lab on those days."

"Did you clean it last Friday?"

"Uh, no. He was already gone and it was locked."

"You didn't have a pass key?"

"Sure, but he was gone for the day."

"How are you so sure?"

"I'm not, but I saw him leave. It was Friday afternoon before a long weekend and he had his brief case and sunglasses on. I figured he was gone 'til next week. Look, I pick up double time on a Monday holiday instead of time and a half………so, I figured, let it wait. He'd never know."

"What if I told you someone saw you enter his office with a pass key?"

"They're lyin'. I didn't go in there."

"You're sure?"

"Yes!"

"You didn't put a CD in his laptop and execute it?"

"I told you! I didn't go in his office." Beads of sweat were forming on Henson's upper lip, so Warrick relented for the moment.

"You said someone spilled coffee on the floor of the Personnel Vault. Did you access any of the files while you were in there?" Brass immediately picked up the line of questioning.

"What?"

"Did you open any of the file drawers?"

"No."

"Then, how did your fingerprints get on Dr. Grissom's Personnel file?"

"What?"

"Your fingerprints were on Dr. Grissom's Personnel file, as well as on the file cabinet where it is stored. How did your prints get there?"

"I don't know. Look, this is a setup!"

"You're right, it is a setup." Warrick fired, paused, then continued. "You and somebody set Gil Grissom up. We have surveillance video of you entering Assistant Director Ecklie's office, two minutes after he left for the weekend, ten minutes after his laptop went into power save mode and five minutes before it would have locked up. Only his password or rebooting, would have allowed access to it then. You were the only one there. You put a CD in and executed it, which altered the AFIS database. We also have earlier video showing you entering the Vault. The guard was busy flirting with the receptionist. He wasn't paying any attention to what you were doing. That's when you swapped Grissom's employee card for the one with Timothy Afton's prints on it."

"There ain't no cameras around either one of those places."

"Ah, but there are. One of the cameras in the foyer of Crime Lab is directed so that it has a partial view of the lab hall and it has a clear shot of Assistant Director Ecklie's office door. There are two cameras at the entrance of the Police Headquarters building. One of them is pointed at the reception area and the door to the vault."

"Okay, look they paid me to do those things. I didn't know they were gonna kill Grissom."

"You're saying he's dead?"

"Yeah, last night, at that convenience store. That was Grissom, right?"

"Actually, no, it wasn't. So who paid you?" Brass took up the line of questioning again.

"A couple of guys."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand."

"What'd you do with it?"

"It's in a safe place."

"You don't know who they are?"

"No, I told you that. They said they were pulling a joke on the Crime Lab. One of'em worked there for awhile but I don't know what he did or his name. I thought they were gonna plant fingerprints to nail Grissom for some kind of silly crime. You know, to embarrass him."

"You don't like Dr. Grissom?" Warrick asked.

"I got no love for him. Hey, he jumped my ass one night. I was just sweepin' up his office. How was I supposed to know that was evidence on the floor? I mean his office looks like a Tornado hit it, what with bugs, spiders and shit floatin' in jars. Nasty! Gives me the willies to go in there."

"Okay, let's talk about something else. How did your fingerprints end up in Timothy Afton's truck?" Brass interjected.

"Who?"

"Timothy Afton, you don't know him?"

"Never heard of him."

"Really?"

"I told ya, I don't know him."

"Rick, you want to show him the truck and all the places his prints were found?"

"Your prints were found on steering wheel, the passenger side door, the passenger seat belt, the tail gate, etc. You sure you don't recognize this truck?" Warrick laid a photo of the truck down along with a diagram of Henson's prints.

"Ah, Man, that's Shooter's truck. I never knew his real name. Sure, I been in that truck."

"Shooter?"

"Yeah, he likes shots of basically any hard liquor so he got the nickname Shooter."

"Can you explain how your thumb print got on this roll of duct tape?"

"Musta taped something up." Henson replied after squinting at the photo of the duct tape.

"Like Dr. Grissom?" Brass inquired.

"No way."

"Dr. Grissom's hand print was found on this window."

"I didn't know Shooter was involved in that stuff."

"Well, let me clue you into a couple of things. First, Timothy Afton, aka Shooter, was the one shot in the alley of the convenience store. He had on Gil Grissom's leather jacket, which had Grissom's cell phone and wallet in the pockets. We got Grissom's handprint in the back of the truck and we got your prints everywhere else. We got you tampering with stuff in Police Headquarters and the Crime Lab. Basically, we got you - for Murder One. That's the needle, pal."

"Whoa, wait a minute here." Sweat popped out on Darryl Henson's forehead.

"Time is getting short Darryl. If you know something, I think you better start talking."

"All right, Okay. He made me do it!" Sweat had begun trickling down the sides of his face and he swiped at it with a forearm.

"Who?"

"Kyle Davenport."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 10

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.

Catherine Willows woke up with a start. Just enough light filtered in from the window where the sun was beginning to rise, for her to recognize she was in the break room. Glancing around, she spotted Warrick's lanky form sprawled across two chairs. Sara Sidle was curled in a ball in another chair with a jacket draped over her and Nick Stokes was face down at the table. She didn't have the heart to wake them so she slipped out and headed for the locker room for a quick shower.

"Just the Lady I was coming to see!" Jim Brass called as Catherine came out of the locker room and jumped. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. What've you got?"

"Search warrants for the domiciles of Kyle Davenport and Darryl Henson. Where's the rest of the guys?"

"They're all asleep in the break room. Who is Kyle Davenport?"

"Daryl Henson claims he's the Mastermind behind all this. I pulled his jacket, Grissom sent him up about eleven years ago for Involuntary Manslaughter. He got out six months ago."

"Who'd he kill?"

"Chorus Girl named Alice Reynolds."

"I remember looking over that one. He thought she was dead and dumped her body over the side of his boat into Lake Mead. Problem was, she wasn't dead yet. He was a lawyer of some sort."

"An up-and-coming junior partner at the corporate law firm of Wright and Sellers. You know, 'the advisors to the casinos'. The conviction ruined him professionally. He's been doing legwork for a small firm in Henderson since he got out. We've got a warrant out for him."

"Rise and Shine, Sleepyheads!" Brass shouted as they entered the break room. A chorus of groans answered.

"Sara! Good Morning!" Brass greeted with a huge grin when Sara sat up, hair tousled and eyes half-open.

"You are way too cheerful for this early in the morning." She grumbled. "There oughta be a law against that."

"You'll feel better after some coffee. Now, come on kids, we've got work to do!"

"Why don't you guys get showers while the coffee is brewing and I'll see what I can do about some breakfast." Catherine intervened.

"Cath, I gotta get back to the station. We have Henson looking at photos of former lab employees." Brass said as the grumbling younger CSI's headed down the hall.

"There's a lab employee involved?"

"Former lab employee. Henson claims he was paid by a couple of guys to replace Grissom's employee card and one of them had worked here for awhile. I guess, it didn't occur to him that everybody has a photo ID…………"

"I can't believe somebody we worked with could have been a part of this."

"I'll let you know what I find out."

---------------------------------

"Okay, I got an order of hot cakes and scrambled eggs for Sara. One of the bacon, egg and cheese McGriddles and some hashbrowns are mine. The rest, you guys can divvy up."

"Oooo, fruit Parfaits with Granola!" Sara exclaimed.

"Yeah, I got a couple extra in case you didn't want the hot cakes and eggs."

"Okay, Sara, how about you locate Greg and take Davenport's place? Nick and Warrick, you get Henson." Catherine said, after wiping her mouth a final time. "I'm gonna see what other records I can pull on them. Maybe I can find something to help narrow the search area."

"What kind of search is being conducted?" Sara asked.

"Henson said he was blindfolded but seemed to think they were within an hour of the city so they're concentrating on that. They dumped Grissom in a remote area and he couldn't see any lights. Brass had three helicopters in the air, using heat-seeking cameras, while it was dark. And, Atwater authorized using the cadets for a ground search starting this morning." Warrick replied as he and Nick gathered their stuff.

"Good Lord." Nick muttered.

"Tomas was certain a CD was inserted into Ecklie's laptop and executed by the sheer speed of the commands." Warrick informed Nick as they left. "I'm betting we find it at Henson's. He's way too stupid to have thrown it away."

"You think you'll find anything useful?" Sara asked Catherine.

"People never realize how much of their life is in the public record. I don't think Davenport would dump Gil in a public area……….too easy for someone to stumble across him. I think one of those three guys has access to private property and that's where he is."

-------------------------------

At Darryl Henson's abode………………

"Bingo!" Warrick called out.

"You found something in this crap hole?" Nick disgustedly asked, from where he was sifting through an overflowing trashcan. It was barely discernable beneath the pile of discarded fast food containers.

"Yep, a CD with instructions in the jacket, no less. It says go to 'start' at the lower left corner of the screen and hit the 'run' tab……….."

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"Nope, Henson is a grade-A moron and we have handwritten instructions in how to 'execute' a program from the CD ROM, class 101."

"I guess the end of the instructions didn't include 'burn this CD and the instructions after the programming is complete.'"

"Ooo, and I have all sorts of fingerprints. How very helpful!" Warrick exclaimed as he held the disc up to the light. "I'm gonna call Tomas as soon as I lift them."

-----------------------------

In Kyle Davenport's apartment…………..

"There's something seriously wrong with this guy." Greg muttered to Sara as they stood on the threshold of Kyle Davenport's meticulously organized apartment.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's so clean - too clean for a single guy."

"Really?"

"Even Grissom isn't this anal………..although Hodges comes close."

"You've been to Hodges' place?"

"Yep, and believe me it was scary! He has a thing for Joan Collins. Has this huge poster of her on one wall."

"The 'Dynasty' Joan Collins."

"Don't tell me you watched that show."

"Well, yeah, it was 'the show' to watch when I was in junior high school."

"Uh, let's get started before I find out any more disturbing information."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought you were way cooler than that."

"Fine, you start with the kitchen." She muttered while wondering what was wrong with having watched 'Dynasty' on TV.

"Greg?" Sara called out after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"You've been to Grissom's?"

"Yeah, I had breakfast with him and Catherine, one morning."

"Why?"

"It was after I expressed my undying interest in being a CSI instead of a lab rat."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Grissom and Catherine?"

"Yeah." Sara digested this information and wondered why everyone but her had received their own personal invitation to Grissom's townhouse for breakfast, except her, and why Catherine always seemed to be part of the picture.

"I've gotta a laptop." Sara informed, a few minutes later.

"I've got a couple of banana peels." Greg replied, peering at the detritus from the trashcan. "I'm surprised they're not wrapped in aluminum foil and stapled up in a brown paper bag."

"Well, that would certainly make things easier." Sara responded, totally missing the reference to Saturday Night Live and Phil Hartman's Anal Retentive Chef.

"How would that make it easier?"

"We could get a better timeline on when he was last here. We could get some fresh bananas and let them age to see how much time elapsed since they were peeled. Having them wrapped would prevent oxidation and give us a better estimate." Sara enthused.

"Oh, really?"

"Of course, make sure to photograph them from every angle. Does he have any other bananas?"

"Yes."

"Good, we can use those to estimate how ripe the ones he peeled were at the time he used them."

"I hope we find Grissom before we have time to carry out this experiment." Greg muttered certain he now knew exactly why she worked so much overtime.

"I'm gonna call Tomas Nunez, see if he can work this laptop, Okay?"

"Sure, whatever. I'll just bag these bananas."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 11

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. The lyrics to Comfortably Numb belong to Pink Floyd.

Out in the Desert - Day Two

He lapsed in and out of lucid thought as the sun journeyed across the sky from east to west. From time to time, he would bolt up, thinking he had the answer to a case, only to realize it was one from the distant past, already solved. Eventually, he sank into dreams. Wild, chaotic dreams of places he had never been and things he had never experienced. Impressions pressed upon his soul, from songs and poems. Why was it always - Pink Floyd? He finally focused on one set, in particular.

_Hello.  
Is there anybody in there?  
Just nod if you can hear me.  
Is there anyone home?_

He was bound in a straitjacket, unable to utter a word; certain this was some sort of psychotic breakdown.

_Come on, now.  
I hear you're feeling down.  
Well I can ease your pain,  
Get you on your feet again._

"You have no idea." He mumbled to the black figures dancing around. "I would love to have my pain eased and if you could get me on my feet, I could get the fuck out of here!"

_Relax.  
I need some information first.  
Just the basic facts:  
Can you show me where it hurts?_

"All over!" Just an imaginary little pinprick and he no longer felt his shoulder or knee.

_There is no pain, you are receding.  
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.  
You are only coming through in waves.  
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're sayin'._

Riding the waves of hallucination, he heard the lyrics he had always connected with:

_When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,  
Out of the corner of my eye.  
I turned to look but it was gone.  
I cannot put my finger on it now.  
The child is grown, the dream is gone.  
I have become comfortably numb._

"Comfortably numb." He muttered aloud, his mind drifting into mild euphoria but something kept prodding him toward clarity. There it was again. A sharp rap on his foot. He focused his right eye at his feet and the ugly baldhead of a Turkey Vulture came into view. Beady black eyes glistened with malevolent curiosity as it cocked that repulsive, wrinkled red head to one side then pecked his shoe again. Fury engulfed him and he instinctively kicked out with his right foot. Sharp, stabbing pain shot up his leg and he gasped as tears blurred his vision.

"Not, with that foot." He thought as he curled into a fetal position. After a few minutes, his left hand fumbled out, searching the surrounding area for a rock. He would be prepared the next time that grotesque bastard approached.

--------------------------------------

It was an utterly exhausted, morose group of CSI's that reconvened in the break room at the end of the day. They had started the day with an air of expectation. After all, they had made great progress in the previous twenty-four hours. One suspect was in custody, another was identified and they had the possibility of a third. Everyone had the utmost confidence that Jim Brass would track Davenport down and wring Grissom's location out of his miserable hide. Now, an air of depression surrounded them as they picked at take-out Chinese and waited for Brass.

"Hey, guys." Brass greeted from the door.

"Doesn't look promising." Sara muttered, taking in his slumped shoulders and general air of despondency.

"I've got Jack shit. Sorry." Brass responded, holding his hands out wide in front of his body.

"You've moved a mountain already, Jim." Catherine sympathized. "Let's start with a brief summary – Warrick and Nick found the CD used to alter the AFIS database in Darryl Henson's apartment. Henson identified the inside help as a former lab employee, Justin Connolly. He interned here while completing his BS in Computer Science at UNLV. No reason was given for not offering him a permanent position in his file – only Gil can answer that, or possibly Ecklie. I've found little of use in the backgrounds of Henson or Davenport. I've only done a little work on Connolly. Sara, did Tomas find anything interesting on Davenport's laptop?"

"Not that I've heard."

"What about the CD?"

"Tomas said programming style can be almost as individual as fingerprints. He was supposed to get with you about looking up some of the programming done here in the past to try to make a connection. We didn't know about Connolly then." Warrick answered.

"Okay, let's watch this tape then we'll decide where to go from there." Catherine put in the tape of the second interrogation of Darryl Henson. This time, she and Brass had conducted the interview. By the time they had finished, Catherine was certain of one thing – Henson had no idea where Gil was. She wanted the rest of the team to view it in case she had missed something important, either due to her own depression at the situation or sheer weariness.

--------------------------------------

"Look, Man! I didn't kill nobody!" Henson vehemently denied. He thought he might catch a break when the pretty blonde, Catherine Willows, entered the interrogation room with Detective Brass. He had a pounding headache and his mouth was dry as cotton.

"Could I get some aspirin and a cup of water?" Catherine went to the door and spoke to the guard then came back to her seat.

"Tell us where Grissom is and we'll help you with a plea bargain." Brass reiterated.

"I don't know! If I knew, I'd tell you. I swear to God!" Henson frantically insisted. "Kyle put a blindfold on me! We went west out of town but he made so many turns. I think, maybe, we were out around Red Rock Canyon but I don't know for sure."

He looked from one to the other, desperate for them to believe him. He now saw what a chump he'd been. It had been like that all his life – being suckered by one guy after another.

"Grissom kicked me in the chest with both feet." He bitterly mumbled and unzipped the jail coveralls that had been issued to him. "See, I got bruises."

"If you're looking for someone to feel sorry for you, look elsewhere." Brass roughly responded. He was tired of dealing with Henson but started again, anyway. They kept finding out a little bit more each time they made him go over the story. "Who took Afton's truck back to his place?"

"I did. Once we got back into to town, Kyle told me to take it back to the motel and get rid of the shotgun that was behind the seat. I took the truck back but some people pulled up……..and they were loud and messing around in the parking lot so I left."

"You left the shotgun there."

"Yeah, I thought I'd get it in the morning. I was scared and I went home, had a few beers and passed out. It was afternoon when I woke up. I went to get the gun but the cop cars were already there."

"How do you know Kyle Davenport?"

"Just after I got out of high school, I used to clean one of the office buildings downtown. There were a lot of lawyers on this one floor and I…….." He paused for a moment wondering if he could get in more trouble than he was already in.

"You what?"

"I, ah, sold them some party stuff."

"So how does this relate to Davenport?" Catherine snapped.

"He was one of the guys I sold to. He got out of prison 'bout six months ago. Anyway, he told me I sold him the blow when he got into trouble over that Chorus girl. Ya know, the one they sent him up for killing? He said I was an 'accessory' but he never turned me in because he figured I would be willing to repay 'old debts'."

"What exactly did 'repaying old debts' entail?"

"I had a clean record so he told me to get a job as a Janitor here. I was just supposed to get the layout of the place. He and Justin Connolly set up how I could swap the cards. I didn't know Justin had worked at the lab then. I didn't even know his name."

"How did you swap the cards?"

"I was cleaning behind the Receptionist's desk and slipped a small tube under the door. I pressed a button on this canister they had me hide on my cart and presto there's a mess on the floor that looks like spilled coffee. A couple of minutes later, they find it and need somebody to clean it up and I'm right there."

Aspirin and water arrived at the door. Brass handed it to Henson then urged him to continue the story.

"So then, they come to me later and tell me I gotta find a computer in the lab and load this CD up. I didn't know what it was supposed to do. Then, Kyle tells me I owe him one last favor, bring Shooter's truck to the alley just past the corner of Eleventh and Hardwick. I waited and waited until I thought about just splitting, but then they show up with this guy slumped between them. Kyle told me to tape him up while they went back to clean up. Shooter thought the guy's leather jacket was cool so Kyle pulled it off of him and gave it to him."

"You never noticed the resemblance."

"I taped the guy up, I never even looked at his face 'cause by then I just wanted to get the shit over with. It was makin' me nervous and I was gettin' in way too deep. I was figurin' on splittin' town for awhile as soon as I could shake Kyle. Then, He comes back and I asked where Shooter was and he said 'Never mind about him. We gotta get going.' So, I hopped in the passenger's seat and we drove off. Later, Kyle hands me this bandana. I'm like 'what's this?' and he says 'put it on so you don't know anything, okay? It's all me from here on.' I put it on and we went out in the boonies."

"Did Kyle or Justin Connolly ever ask you to get any other information from the crime lab?"

"Yeah, Justin did. He had me make a copy of this sheet off the corkboard across from the break room in the crime lab every Friday night."

"Our rotation schedule! I knew it!" Warrick shouted, erupting from his seat. "That fuck! Just wait 'til I get my hands on him!"

"Warrick……." Catherine began.

"He used to talk cards and shit with me. I'm bettin' he's hangin' at one of the casinos right now!" Warrick ranted.

"Okay, we'll search the casinos." Brass interjected.

"I swear, I'll find him." Warrick continued.

"No you won't." Catherine said firmly. "Teams will be assigned to search the casinos but you aren't going."

Warrick stared at her in disbelief.

"We need to interrogate him – not have you beat him to a bloody pulp. Believe me, I'd like nothing better, but we have to find Gil. Remember?"

"Yeah, alright."

"Good. How about you call Tomas? Work on getting him some programming examples, Okay?"

"Sure, okay."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 12

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. Hey Man, Nice Shot was recorded by Filter in 1995.

Back in the desert………………….

Gil Grissom drug his swollen tongue across his cracked, parched lips. It was dark again. The first thing he noticed was that his unwelcome companions had stealthily departed. He'd spent the remaining hours of daylight in battle with the vultures - some real, some not. The real ones had retreated when it was evident he was not close to death. They settled on the rocks atop the crevasse, patiently waiting. Occasionally, one would take flight and alight near him, awkwardly hopping closer until another was tempted to venture down. Squawking and squabbling, they would beat the air with their wings, trying to intimidate one another other. Then, it was his turn to wait patiently until one inadvertently drew close enough for him to hit squarely with a rock.

Once, he swore the dark shape that swooped toward him had Ecklie's face. Other times, he saw enemies from the past or the faces of the victims from unsolved cases. He found himself muttering apologies to them and their loved ones because he had provided no voice for the victim or closure for the family.

Now, studying the night sky, he occupied his mind by attempting to name the various constellations. After a time, he realized some were missing. Growing more alert, he noted an entire section of the sky was dark. Was it due to cloud cover? Was a storm front approaching? He sniffed the air and thought he smelled the fresh scent of rain. Could he dare hope for rain? He'd been without water for nearly forty-eight hours. Was this just another hallucination? It had been years, since he last prayed. But now, he prayed, with all his might, to all the Gods he could think of, for life-giving moisture.

"Yes!" He growled as the first drops pelted his injured leg. He scrabbled around, searching for a way to preserve the life giving raindrops. He found a depression in the hard bedrock, filled with sand, and began scooping it out. Locating another depression, he scooped it out as the full fury of the thunderstorm erupted overhead. He lay back and laughed out loud until he started coughing.

-----------------------------

At the lab………………..

Warrick found Catherine outside the lab, leaning on a bench, staring at the night sky. She was so still and pale, bathed in the moonlight. He wondered if he should disrupt her silent vigil.

"Cath? Are you okay? What are you thinking?"

She wiped a tear and recited: "Star light, Star bright, First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish, I wish tonight."

"We all wish he was here."

"He always said one day he just wouldn't be here anymore. I always figured he'd just retire. It just never entered my mind that he might end up dead. I keep thinking, maybe, it would have been better……...if we still thought that was him in the Morgue. I hate thinkin' of him as buzzard bait. I don't think we're gonna find him. At least, not in time."

"I don't want to hear you talk like that – you just need some sleep."

"I can't sleep."

Warrick sat on the bench and joined her quiet contemplation of the night sky. He wished he could think of something to say to comfort and encourage her.

"Looks like a storm front is moving in." He observed after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah." She softly replied then roused herself. "Six hours 'til the morning meeting – I've got to find something!"

"Where do you want to start?"

"Let's go back to Davenport and review all the evidence from his previous case. There's got to be a clue somewhere!"

-----------------------------

At the Tangiers………………

"That's him!" Greg Sanders whispered excitedly to Nick Stokes.

"You sure?" Nick glanced at the photo from Justin Connolly's ID then back at the guy seated at the blackjack table. The greasy, dirty blonde hair and straggly goatee didn't seem to match the preppie looking young man in the photo.

"Yeah, I've run into him a couple of times since he left the lab. He's had the grunge look going for at least a year now."

"Okay, I'm gonna call Brass. You keep an eye on him." Nick stepped back around the bar, pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial.

------------------------------

Justin Connolly tried to lie his way out when Greg Sanders and Nick Stokes eased onto stools on either side of him. On a computer, he could pull off just about any stunt, but lying face-to-face was an art he hadn't mastered. He just hadn't been able to stay confined in the room anymore and, well, a few hands of blackjack always calmed him down.

He remembered staring at the photo of the Graveyard Shift softball team. They had trounced the Dayshift team. That was when things were good and he had the world in front of him. He traced his fingers over Gil Grissom's face and wished he'd have gotten to know him better before it all happened. Before Grissom caught him - tampering with evidence.

_I wish I would've met you  
now it's a little late.  
What you could've taught me  
I could have saved some face_

Grissom went easy on him, gave him a lecture and told him he couldn't keep someone on that he couldn't trust. He got a job at a computer firm but it was boring work and the other people working there were either idiot's with their noses stuck up the boss's ass or childish geeks who did nothing but game in their off time. He tried to strike up some conversations about the crime lab and the interesting stuff they did there; he even tried a couple of pitches to the boss about starting a fraud investigation group.

Deciding maybe, he'd start his own business, he started researching, then trying various cyber crimes. After all, one had to understand the crime in order to investigate it. Right? Yeah, sure. He was good and it was so easy. Then he began to think "Why start a business and have to deal with people stupid enough to get their identity stolen in the first place? Naw, just rip'em off first!" So, he did.

Saturday morning, he'd watched the news, trying to find out some sports scores, to see footage of a body bag. The reporter covering the story said the identity of the murdered CSI was 'pending notification of next of kin' but he knew who it was. He couldn't believe Davenport had gone through with it.

He packed a bag, got the cash out of his safe deposit box and checked into the Tangiers under a fake name. And, for some reason, he took that picture with him. He ran his tongue over his split lower lip and remembered the barely contained rage in Warrick Brown's eyes. An exchange of words, then a fist flew up, connecting firmly with his mouth and his head snapped back from the force. Two uniformed officers pulled Warrick down the sidewalk and gave him a push toward the crime lab. Looking at the faces of the men surrounding him, Justin realized he wouldn't get out of this. The disgust in Jim Brass' gaze frightened him. Nick Stokes pinned him with an icy glare for a moment before Justin glanced at Greg. Greg had that faraway sad look that one usually reserved for funerals.

_they think that your early ending  
was all wrong  
for the most part they're right  
but look how they all got strong  
that's why I say hey man, nice shot._

_what a good shot man.  
a man  
has gun  
hey man  
have fun  
nice shot_

Justin Connolly sat in the interrogation room staring morosely at his hands stretched in front of him. The handcuffs on his wrists were fastened to a metal ring in the center of the table. He was decked out in orange coveralls with shackles around his ankles. They were giving him the full treatment and some time alone to think.

_now that the smoke's gone  
and the air is all clear  
those who were right there  
got a new kind of fear_

"I think I see a tear there." Brass commented from where he and Catherine stood observing behind the two-way glass.

"I hope that means 'let's go' because we really need to find out what he knows, and soon."

"Yeah, I think maybe he has sweated enough. After you, kiddo."

_you'd fight and you were right  
but they were just too strong  
they'd stick it in your face  
and let you smell what they consider wrong.  
that's why I say hey man, nice shot.  
what a good shot man.  
a man  
has gun  
hey man  
have fun  
nice shot.  
_

Brass and Catherine took seats across from Justin Connolly and waited for a couple of minutes. He didn't make eye contact, just kept staring at his hands, cuffed in front of him. Finally, Brass tossed the CD on the table, then asked. "Did you make that?"

"Yes." He responded, then added in justification. "I never felt like I belonged anywhere before I started working at the crime lab. Grissom just couldn't believe I wouldn't do it again, no matter what I said. He said he couldn't trust me."

"He thought you had a lot of talent. It wasn't easy for him but trust is implicit in this business. He hoped you'd apply at a lab somewhere else and make good use of your ability." Catherine said it softly, hoping she was hitting the right nerve. She had no idea what this young man had done but she knew Gil always hoped for the best.

"Yeah, well……………….it's too late now."

"Gil is not dead, as far as we know." Catherine stated.

"We could use your help to find him, maybe offer you a deal?" Brass added.

"I'll try. I deserve whatever I get, but what do you want to know?" Connolly looked Catherine in the eye.

"Darryl Henson said they dumped Gil, still alive, but injured in a remote area, possibly near Red Rock Canyon."

"He never said anything about doing that." He paused and thought hard. "I don't know if this will help but I met him at his apartment the first couple of times. The last one…………..he got served with a Restraining Order from his ex-fiancé. He said he didn't have any contact with her, but he'd gone out to an old cabin on some property her family owned for target practice. As a convicted felon, he couldn't go to a range. Not supposed to have a gun, you know."

"Yeah, did you catch her name?" Brass asked.

"No."

"Doesn't matter, I'll find it!" Catherine exclaimed as she bolted out of the room.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 13

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. The lyrics to Learning to Fly belong to Pink Floyd.

Out in the Desert……………Day Three

More alert today, than yesterday, Grissom moved his body to gaze at the clear blue sky. He watched the Turkey Vultures ride the thermals and circle in lazy paths above him. Surely someone would come to see what had drawn their unwanted attention. Estimating a dozen of them, he watched them soar……….

_Into the distance, a ribbon of black  
stretched to the point of no turning back  
a flight of fancy on a wind swept field  
standing alone, my senses reeled  
a fatal attraction holding me fast, how  
can I escape this irresistible grasp?_

_Can't keep my eyes from the circling sky  
tongue-tied & twisted just an earthbound misfit, I_

"Oh well, how 'bout a little more Pink Floyd." He sarcastically thought. He always thought he would die thinking of an Opera or some classic symphony piece would be swirling through his mind. Never in his wildest dreams, had he thought it would be Pink Floyd lyrics.

He'd gone parachuting once - everyone thought he was nuts. The first time didn't count since the Instructor was hitched to him, guiding his hands on the lines and teaching him how to work them. For him, the solo was all that really mattered……….

_A soul in tension that's learning to fly  
condition grounded, determined to try  
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies  
tongue-tied & twisted just an earthbound misfit, I_

"A split second of courage!" That was all it took, to launch himself out of the plane, then he was on his own. It was such a rush, plummeting until he remembered to check the altimeter, release the chute and work the lines, then floating just like those birds. They were so ungodly ugly, hopping around on the ground but they soared as majestically as Eagles in air.

_Above the planet on a wing and a prayer  
My grubby halo, a vapour trail in the empty air  
Across the clouds I see my shadow fly  
out of the corner of my watering eye  
A dream unthreatened by the morning light  
could blow this soul right through the roof of the night_

He landed badly and tore up his good knee. That was the end of parachuting for him but he thought that few minutes alone in the sky was worth the price. He could still feel the wind in his face and the peels of manic laughter that ripped from his throat. The only other state of bliss he could possibly compare it to was the afterglow of really good sex.

_There's no sensation to compare with this  
suspended animation, a state of bliss  
Can't keep my mind from the circling sky  
tongue-tied & twisted just an earthbound misfit, I_

In the distance, he thought he heard helicopter blades beating the air.

To the East, in a helicopter……………

Catherine moved her body more to the left, she was getting a cramp in her right side, but her eyes never lost contact with the binoculars she was busily scanning the ground with. It was madness to think she would see him from the jouncing helicopter but she couldn't make herself put them down.

"ETA, seven minutes." She heard the pilot reply to Brass. He was on the other side of the helicopter with binoculars glued to his eyes. Nick and Sara were in the second helicopter following them. Warrick and Greg were setting speed records through Greater Las Vegas, in a Denali, on their way to the rendezvous at the cabin.

"Okay, everybody get ready." The pilot announced. Catherine thought it had been the longest seven minutes in history. She reluctantly sat the binoculars in her lap and blinked rapidly several times to clear her strained eyes.

"Lock and load!" Brass exclaimed. He quickly checked his sidearm, patted the extra clips, then picked up a shotgun and pumped the first round in the chamber. The two SWAT team members sitting across from them were performing similar ritual with their armament so Catherine checked her pistol and replaced it in the holster.

"Range is about two miles." One of the taciturn SWAT men commented as he handed her a two-way radio.

She felt her heart race with an Adrenalin surge as the helicopter touched ground. The door beside Brass was quickly swung open and they began hopping out. One of the SWAT men raised his hand to grasp hers and help her out. Her heart wrenched, for a split second she saw Gil's face and his steady hand reaching toward her. She stumbled, then strong arms pulled her away from the dust and sand being blown about by the helicopter blades.

"You two, secure the cabin." Brass gestured to the men from their helicopter.

"You guys and Nick, take the barn." He told the others, then headed for the cabin.

"Let's check that shed." Catherine said to Sara as the men fanned out.

The two women skirted a broke down corral and approached the small building. Catherine nodded at Sara to yank the door open as she assumed the firing stance; legs spread, both hands on her weapon, elbows relaxed, and gun at shoulder height. Sara jerked the door and quickly crouched at the corner, ready to leap and fire. Nothing happened.

"It's a pump house." Catherine mumbled, taking in the decrepit pump and rusted pipes.

"Looks like the guys came up empty too." Sara noted. She headed toward the knot of gathering men to find out what their next step would be. It took a moment or two before she realized Catherine wasn't following her. She turned to see Catherine increase her speed from a jog to a full out sprint, heading toward a massive rock formation with vultures circling over it.

"Hey!" She shouted to attract the attention of the men. She stood undecided. Should she follow Catherine's retreating form or wait for the guys? A split second later, decision made, she was racing through the desert, and dodging mesquite bushes.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 14

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.

Spoiler(s): None

Grissom was certain the sound he heard was a helicopter. It seemed to draw closer but then became a steady drone.

"What does that mean?" He wondered. Heaving himself up, he put his weight on his left leg and hopped to the middle of his rocky prison. He listened intently.

"There has to be a way to draw attention." He thought. If he just had some matches, he could set his jacket on fire and send up a signal.

"There's not even two sticks to rub together!" He muttered after scouring the surrounding area.

"From now on…….." He began a vow. Matches or a lighter would be a part of his personal accouterment. Needing to relieve some of his weight from his good leg, he hopped to the rocky wall he'd tried so hard to climb. Should he try it again?

"Come on – see them!" He tried to shout as he gazed up at the vultures still circling. It came out more as a croak than a shout.

--------------------------------------------

Catherine paused to catch her breath at the base of the rocks. Glancing up in the sky, she noticed one of the vultures dive toward the earth slightly to her left.

"Gil!" She yelled. She wasn't sure if it was the wind or her fervent desire but she thought she heard a muffled 'Here!' She began scrambling up the rocks, wishing for a pair of gloves as she ripped a fingernail nearly off.

--------------------------------------------

"Where the hell is she going?" Brass huffed as he neared Nick and Sara. Nick had quickly outdistanced him in their pursuit of Catherine and Sara.

"I don't know but I trust her instinct." Nick answered.

"Sara, you okay?" Brass asked. Sara was bent over double, head between her knees, while Nick rubbed her back.

"Yeah, I got a stitch. I'll be all right. There's got to be another way up. I don't think I can make that climb." Sara stood and motioned to Catherine's figure nearing the top of the rocks.

"You guys find it, I'm going after Cath." Nick stated and began a steady climb.

------------------------------------------------

"Gil!" Catherine breathlessly shouted again, once she had reached the top.

"I'm here!"

She made her way on rubbery legs to where the call and following coughs had emanated. Noting a trail from the south that a four-wheel drive vehicle could navigate, she looked over the edge of precipice to find Gil Grissom, grinning as best he could, and gazing hopefully up to the edge.

"Catherine." He greeted. He looked wonderfully alive; but then, she noticed how he was leaning on a rock and his face was swollen and bruised.

"Hang on. Help is on the way. I'll be down in a sec." She told him. Pulling out the radio, she turned slightly so he couldn't hear.

"He's alive and looks okay but we need a Medi-vac here, ASAP."

"Roger that. Medi-vac on the way." Came the reply from one of the helicopter pilots a few seconds later.

"Hey! How are you?" She asked once she reached the bottom to find him sitting with his back against a rock. More than once, she'd heard him utter, "Catherine, be careful!" While she made her descent.

"I've been better." He smiled crookedly. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"I'm so happy to find you. I'd kiss you, if I could see someplace that wouldn't hurt."

"Not many places left but here would be okay." He pointed to his right temple with his left hand. She gave him a quick peck and ruffled his hair.

"Chin's not bad either."

"Yeah, but it's got dirt and blood on it." She replied, wiping some of the grime away from his beard as she investigated his head injuries. In the end, she gave it a quick kiss too.

"I saw that!" Nick yelled down. Catherine giggled.

"That's so nice to hear." Grissom said.

"Seriously, where's it hurt the worst?"

"Right knee is in bad shape and my right shoulder is probably dislocated. I think I have a mild concussion, along with dehydration, maybe had a touch of hypothermia and I started coughing last night." He diagnosed.

"I think you've got a little fever." She said placing her hand on his forehead. "But, it doesn't sound like anything a hospital stay can't remedy."

"I hate hospitals."

"Me, too."

"So, you're okay?"

"Yeah, broke a nail, though." She held her hand up to examine her throbbing finger.

"I hate when that happens. Ouch, that looks rough. You might be in the next bed over."

Further conversation was impossible. The roaring engine and screeching tires of the Denali would have drowned it out. And then, there was the general cacophony resulting in the arrival of the rest of the team. As the various faces peered over the rim, Grissom felt a knot of emotion welling from deep in his chest until he had to choke back the tears.

"You brought everybody." He whispered.

"Hey, only the best……………." She kissed his temple again.

Finis!


End file.
